


My Demons Are Cannibals

by Mutt0ttuM



Category: Original Work
Genre: FUCK, Just how, doesnt make sense, i hate verything, i need to get out, i see my brain, random shit, vent - Freeform, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 12:48:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15437388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mutt0ttuM/pseuds/Mutt0ttuM
Summary: If you mix every color, you get brown. If you feel every emotion, you feel nothing...





	My Demons Are Cannibals

**Author's Note:**

> I just need to et stuf out. not looking to make it good and neat/....

  Drips of endless black ooze roll over the constantly bared fangs of the hell hound one would call nothingness. Its thick, swinging tail laced with no fur, no scales, no skin. It just...is. It happens to be. And nothing more could ever come from the beast. Deep snarls and growls erupt from the bottomless thing which could be considered a throat. The features all mesh together, constantly switching and molding to its past victims. Its eyes could be the only thing you would call conceivable. Utterly empty while still raging with life, light, and hate. It wilts every flower, murders every person, and erodes every construction. It is everything.....because it is nothing. No where is everywhere, and that is what this nothing is. It's so nowhere that it's somewhere which means it's so nothing that its something. The nothing could only confuse and convey in its own tricky ways. Because nothing could ever be anything like this something is nothing. It is nothing.

  Its empty yet sparking eyes scan, falling upon any branch that breaks. Because it doesn't make sense. Why would a snap be in the place of endless nowhere? Because its not a branch but a bone. Splintering as crunching between the jaws of a creature I would once call my friend. My trusted. Or the only thing that could give joy to a cold and empty world. What is it snapping? Simple....joy. It's ripping at the flesh, tearing through the skin with the claws of irony it tends to sharpen everyday. Sharpen on the poor interactions of my underachieving mind. _There she goes again_ , it hisses just loud enough to hear in the back of a mind. _Thinking that they would listen....that they don't **lie**. _ Poor excuse for a being, poor excuse for a soul, poor excuse for a friend.

  The irony tears holes inside of the joy and happiness, possibly trying to not kill it. But instead drag out the death, as the blue blood seeps and pours down its freshly sliced wounds. Though theories are wrong, and our minds can do nothing but guess. Therefore you are wrong. Therefore we are wrong. Therefore I am wrong for evermore. And its teeth of self loathing sink into the throat of the joy, landing a final killing blow. Blood splattering onto the non-existent ground. The floor of nothing. But do you recall nothing? Do you recall nothingness? It seems My Trusted has roused the attention with their shrieks of victory. Victory is false. There will always be better, because we must strive to be more than ourselves. Perfection is a must, even though it is ideally impossible. Wails of victory will only be begging squeaks of a broken people. Of a broken being. Irony.

  No need to explain when you already understand. Laws of nature. Cycles. It's all an endless cycle that we refuse to break. And we break and we break because we think we are doing something but we aren't. Because it's apart of our endless cycle to break that cycle. You see two circles? They intertwine. So its not a round loop like you picture. No, instead it's infinity, trying to break in every direction only to be pushed back to the starting line. We own no self control, we are no one. We don't exist. We only follow. We do not follow those of our own but instead the ones we don't see or understand. The ones, the nothing, and the ignorant eyes to realize that it never takes a form. It is no god. It is only.........existence. An in this endless cycle, Nothingness takes My Trusted into its chest and heaves. Heaves it inside. Swallows it whole through the hole. The hole it call its heart. Its home. That empty blank space is truly empty, and that is where it resides.

  More take more take more take more. Follow the stream. It's where the lead, it's where they go. One after the other, into the hole. Swallow and devour. Sate your ever growing hunger because you can't fight against it. You are the enemy. We fight our nature by giving in. You give in you are special. Who sees someone give in anymore? It's death over and over, a display case just screaming "LOOK AT ME! ARENT I PERFECT? ARENT I ALL WE IMAGINED? AM I NOT WHAT THE PEAK OF EXISTANCE IS?" And I say "yes". Because when we look at it through a clear gaze, we realize that to be perfect is to have nothing. Give a robot a job, tell it to teach, and it all ends in disgusting pain until nothing is left. It's goal at the end of the day is for every imperfection that could disrupt plans to be thrown to the side, murdered and picked off until nothing is left. Is that perfection? Nothing? Yes.

  So they all go. And there is one left. One left. And Nothingness looks at me. In its eyes spark Joy, Hope, Laughter, My Trusted, My Loved, My Needed. It has even taken away Pain. Acknowledgement. Understanding. They are all deep within the bowls of the beast whom seems to be my only friend. Oh wait, those are gone too. So it's me. Staring. And Them. Staring. And it screams to take it. To understand. And I have no understanding. I have no rationality. I have nothin but Nothingness. I no longer want nothing. I need Nothing. And they jump. And they pounce. No crack. No splash. No crying. It is me. I am nothing. We are nothing. You are nothing.

Devour Them. Devour Me. Give Them Back. Leave Me Empty.


End file.
